Metro riders on the storm

I knew when I moved to Montreal that I would have a new experience of winter. I have enjoyed very mild winters for several years now, and Montreal has too. But not this year, which also happens to be my first winter as a Montreal commuter.

A little bit of November snow was followed by two huge December storms, exactly two weeks apart, each one depositing a good two feet of snow on the metropolis. My car became a nondescript white mound along with those of my neighbors. These storms were followed by regular blasts throughout January, February and now into March (the winds are rattling my windows as we speak and all I see out the windows is whiteness). It seems to never snow less than 10 inches at a time.

The way the plowing works for the smaller streets is that at some point, little orange signs are attached to the normal parking signs announcing a twelve-hour period when you must move your car to allow for plowing. They do the sidewalks too, and they actually remove all the snow and haul it away somewhere in huge trucks. Where I used to live, this took about five to seven days to occur. Since there was absolutely nowhere to move the snow until this happened, it was best to just leave my car parked and once and for all, join the masses on buses and subways.

I’ve already become quite used to it. The commute from my new apartment takes about the same length of time as the drive from my old apartment. It is much quicker though, than the bus/subway journey from my old apartment. When it snows a lot, the streets are much narrower, and it becomes harder for the buses to maneuver, causing major delays and detours. I no longer have the luxury of arriving early to school, but I’ve only arrived late once. Public transportation is so much better for the environment, and I’m definitely saving money on gas.

I use a combination of buses and subways depending on the timing. From my old apartment I rode the blue line of the metro, but from the new place I use the green line and the orange line. About half of the time, I can find a place to sit, but standing or sitting, I am up close and personal with my co-city dwellers. Packed like lemmings into shiny metal boxes.

There are many students, mostly high-school age: girls with guitar pick earrings and streaked hair, boys with an abundance of hockey gear, a wide variety of school uniforms and backpacks. I enjoy, sometimes, listening to their conversations. My bilingualism enables me to nonchalantly eavesdrop on snippets of conversations in French and English. Presumably there are other teachers, given the time of day, but it’s not so easy to pick them out. Teachers dress very casually in Quebec.

The students don’t possess a great deal of bus etiquette. They tend to clump up anywhere and block the way for others instead of moving to the back, and most annoyingly, they jump in line with their friends in what are otherwise, very orderly waiting lines. If there are other teachers around me, they are not as vocal as me to speak up and say, “Hey, you were not here before me and you’re not getting on this bus before me!” They actually respond pretty well, they know they’re not supposed to do that; it just takes a tiny bit of courage and interest to say something. Sometimes it just takes a bit of eye contact and a “back of the line, buddy” gesture to send them on their way. Unfortunately, there are occasionally adults who cut the lines...setting such a great example for our youth.

I tend to spend my commute people watching. I like to look at their shoes, and accessories, like their eyeglasses (I don’t know why!?). It’s usually really crowded, and it’s not always easy to manage reading material. Sometimes I listen to my iPod to ease the abuse on one of my senses. I am always looking for a familiar face. I also like to read over people’s shoulders or read the front page of the paper they’re holding across from me without them noticing. Often I think about the school day ahead of or behind me.

But I do love people watching. The people around me represent an incredible variety of cultures. Having lived in Minnesota and upstate New York my whole adult life, my experience has been a little lacking in the multicultural area. I am always amused, when I do steal a little time to read myself, by the fact that every so often when I look up and around, there is a completely different group of people around me.

When things are running on time and it’s not too hot or too crowded, I liken these daily movements to gentle waves rolling on and off the shore, rather rhythmical and smooth...but during those occasional chaotic commutes, I feel more like a salmon swimming upstream!